


Trade Caravan to Gundabad

by Thorinsmut



Series: Free Orcs AU [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Erebor never fell, AU: free orcs, Anal Sex, Complete, Friendship, M/M, Nori is a Little Shit, Scent Marking, Size Kink, Smut, Some angst, Travel, anti-orc racism, secrets and lies, trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor never fell. </p><p>After decades of work forging friendship between their peoples, Thorin is traveling in disguise with the first Dwarven caravan from Erebor to Gundabad to trade with the free Orcs.</p><p>Dwalin, who happened to be passing through Erebor, is coming with Thorin as his guard. </p><p>Nori is traveling to Gundabad for his own reasons.</p><p>Bilbo and Bofur are coming along because Orcs like toys too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. share the fire

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be more of a series of scenes throughout the visit to Gundabad than having actual plot.  
> There will be Azog/Thorin porn, I'm pretty sure.
> 
> I'm envisioning this taking place at about the time the Quest happens in canon.

“Share the fire?”

He was a small, sharp-faced Dwarf with big hair, stepping into the camp out of the dark. Before Thorin or anyone else in the company could greet him Dwalin had tossed aside the twig he’d been poking the fire with.

“A _ha_!” He crowed, smile huge as he smacked his thighs and reached toward the stranger. There was a flicker of surprise, the small Dwarf’s braided eyebrows rising, but then he was grinning too as he stepped lightly through the camp and directly into Dwalin’s arms. He sat straddling Dwalin’s lap, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck to tilt the big warrior’s head back as they kissed deep in the way of Men.

It was… _unexpected_.

Thorin – or Thori, he was traveling as the smith – _liked_ his cousin Dwalin. He wandered the the roads of middle earth and always came back with wild tales of faraway lands. He was great company, whenever he wandered through Erebor. Dwalin had big appetites – for food, ale, and battle. Thori had always assumed he took lovers out in the world too, that his appetite in this would match the rest, but Dwalin had never mentioned a Dwarf he knew well enough to greet with passionate kissing _in public_ without a single word.

Both Dwalin and the other Dwarf’s hands were all over each other. It was clear Dwalin would not be suffering from a cold bedroll tonight – and Thori idly wondered if the pair of them would even bother going to the bedroll at all. They didn’t seem to mind the entire company watching them in curious surprise.

“Don’t _stare_.” Gloin said, throwing Dwalin and the newcomer a glare as he turned young Gimli’s curious face away. They didn’t seem to notice. “That _should_ be private… at least keep it above the _clothes,_ Dwalin.” He instructed.

“Too late.” Thori observed, seeing Dwalin’s hand already wandering underneath the other Dwarf’s tunic. He picked up Dwalin’s discarded fire-poking twig and poked him with it.

“Introduce us?” Thori suggested, reminding Dwalin that there _were_ other people here. Dwalin grabbed the twig, snapping it in half with his grip, but he did break the kiss for a moment.

“My cousin Thori.” Dwalin introduced, jerking his thumb toward Thori with his eyes never leaving the smaller Dwarf’s, “Gloin and Gimli.” He indicated them too without looking, “Company.” He said, waving his hand vaguely around to indicate the rest of everyone. “Nori.” he concluded, his hand coming to rest on Nori’s back and his voice _far_ warmer on that name than any other.

Dwalin leaned back in for a kiss, but Nori only gave him the lightest brush of lips, eyes traveling the company curiously, nodding to everyone, until landing on Thori.

“Your cousin?” Nori said, a small smile on his lips as he blatantly eyed Thori, “He’s pretty. I wouldn’t mind some of _that_ you wanted to share me…”

Dwalin snarled, big hands clenching on Nori, and the smaller Dwarf was laughing as he returned to kissing Dwalin. The few caravan guards who _knew_ who Thori was had tensed – Thorin himself had been caught off guard by the blatant offer – people did not speak like _that_ of the Crown Prince, even in joking. But that was one of the benefits of traveling as Thori, he could be treated as any other Dwarf would be.

…and this trip was probably the _last_ time he would ever manage to be Thori. King Thrain was aging, and a King did not have as much freedom as a Prince. Even getting the leeway for this trip had been a struggle, but Thorin would not miss this if he had _any_ choice – the culmination of so many years of effort.

“Never seen _you_ so far north.” Dwalin murmured, stroking Nori’s back as he gazed up at him.

“Happens sometimes, if I’ve got reason.” Nori answered, as quiet. He seemed to notice Dwalin’s latest ink and curiously traced the lines across his bald scalp.

“I can’t work for you, I’m hired on here.” Dwalin said, and that was _real_ regret in his voice. So Nori was someone he _worked_ for – though their relationship clearly was not the typical one of guard and protected. Not that Dwalin’s role here, famed sell-axe protecting Thorin in disguise, was all that typical either.

“That’s alright.” Nori said, and he’d tipped Dwalin’s head back to kiss him deep again.

The camp settled again. Dwalin and Nori seemed to have no desire to do anything but be all over on each other, and Gloin herded curious Gimli away so he wouldn’t keep so obviously taking mental notes. Conversations that had stopped in surprise restarted, and Thori joined in.

“Oh!” The Hobbit exclaimed, loud enough that most of the company looked at him. Thori had worried about his inclusion in the group, but friendly Bofur the toyseller was full of stories of Bilbo getting him and his family out of scrapes, and so far the Hobbit had kept up with the group admirably. He was a slender, wide-eyed thing, but he kept up with the group just fine – walking hand in hand with Bofur every day.

“There are _Orcs_ , close by!” Bilbo said with a bright smile, drawing a few inches of his little Elvish knife to show it glowing blue. He peered around at the darkness, looking for them. The guards of the group tensed.

“They’re with me, my guards.” Nori said, pulling back from Dwalin. He placed a finger across the warrior’s lips, and Dwalin stilled obediently. “Daul! Blotaz!” he called.

“They’re good. I’ll speak for them.” Nori continued as two Orcs walked in out of the dark. They cringed respectfully to the guards as they approached, carrying heavy packs. Thori knew that many Orcs worked as travel guards, but he’d never seen them work for a _Dwarf_ before.

Thori began to rise to greet them, to be sure they were made welcome, but Bilbo beat him to it.

“Daul?” Bilbo said, eyes wide, and the shorter of the Orcs looked toward him, orange-brown eyes wide in surprise.

“ _Gashnal-gaz_!” Daul greeted, smile wide and sharp, and the little Hobbit had all but thrown himself on the Orc. They hugged with a laugh, and Bilbo nuzzled his cheek briefly against Daul’s before beginning to talk in rapid-fire Orcish.

Thori had never had the chance to learn more than a few words, and he had to bite down on a small surge of jealousy as the Hobbit snapped and snarled the harsh sounds of Orc speech. As Crown Prince, Thorin had more pressing things to do with his time than learn languages.

Bilbo laughed at something the Orcs said, turning to smile at all the company.

“Daul’s family saved my life… oh, _years_ and years ago.” he said, “I’ll speak for them too… if that’s necessary?”

“It is not.” Thori assured him, though the fact that he _had_ went a long ways toward soothing the guards. “Welcome, Daul and Blotaz. Share our camp.” It would likely be good for everyone to be accustomed to seeing Orcs _before_ they all arrived at Gundabad. The few guards who knew who Thori _was_ were those who’d also accompanied him there during the fell winter, and the merchants who’d chosen to come with the first Dwarvish trade caravan to Gundabad were those who’d had dealing with Orcs, but it didn’t hurt for them all to be more comfortable with them.

Sharing an evening with a pair of them would only help.

The Orcs cringed and thanked Thori and began setting their camp up, looking curiously toward Nori and Dwalin who had resumed their kissing. Bilbo continued chatting with them in Orcish, and Thori settled back down by the fire.

“But _we’re_ all going to Gundabad too! You should travel with us, of course.” Bilbo said brightly, smiling around at everyone like it was the best idea he’d ever heard. There were a few murmurs in the camp, but Thori was glad to see that few people looked actually _uncomfortable_ at the prospect.

“Nori?” the taller of the Orcs, Blotaz, asked, looking toward Nori, who placed a finger over Dwalin’s lips again.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” Nori said, “I’m just a small-time trader, nobody important…”

Thori bit back his instinct to invite him into their group. He was just _Thori_ here, just a smith, and not the one in charge of the caravan.

A few of the more prominent traders made welcoming noises, and the head of the guards was saying something about ‘for a friend of Dwalin’… and Thori nearly missed Dwalin biting Nori’s finger across his lips.

“Nori…” there was a warning in his quiet word, and something seemed to pass between their eyes before Nori laughed softly.

“Don’t worry.” Nori said with a smile, and Dwalin relaxed.

Thori would have to ask him what _that_ was about, later.

Nori turned around on Dwalin’s lap, to better talk with people while he accepted the invitation to join the caravan. Soon Bilbo accompanied the Orcs over to the fire while they cooked a dinner for themselves and Nori – chatting with them in the common tongue now, and Thori joined them.

There were a few elbow nudges when Dwalin and Nori gathered up their bedrolls and ambled off together to set up a little ways away for privacy. The caravan were all in good spirits, and Dwalin having a _good_ evening was of little concern. The region was safe enough it was not a problem for him to be less on his guard for an evening. No one was upset by it.

Maybe young Gimli was a _little_ , but only because Gloin kept a close eye on him to prevent him from sneaking off to watch and satisfy his youthful curiosity.

Thori accepted a pipe fill of Hobbitish pipeweed from Bilbo and sat in comfortable conversation around the fire.

 _Decades_ of work were finally culminating in a Dwarven caravan traveling to Gundabad to match those Gundabad sent to Erebor – another step in cementing the friendship of their peoples, and Thori smiled.

He would not have missed this if he had _any_ choice in the matter.


	2. an old friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azog and Bolg watch the Dwarven caravan enter Gundabad

Azog watched the greeting of the Dwarven trade caravan as they entered the mountain of Gundabad. He watched the merchants among them relax to be under stone again, and their warriors tensing to be surrounded by Orcs.

The leaders of the caravan were going through the theatre of greeting, while the rest looked around warily or curiously – stomping their boots the way Dwarves would when presented with new stone. They would be judging Gundabad’s stone, and they did not seem to find it lacking. Orcs did not carve and build the way Dwarves did, but when they were _free_ to build as they would they took the care to build solid structures that would last generations. Structures they could live in _safely_.

There were a few young ones among the Dwarves, which surprised Azog. Decades had been spent building trust between their peoples, but he would not have expected them to trust so much yet.

One of the Dwarves spotted him – Azog didn’t recognize him until he smiled. He had heavy silver at his temples now, and he was dressed simply and hanging back among the crafters, but he was unmistakeably _Thorin_. Azog smiled back, unable to hold in a slight chuckle. Of _course_ Thorin would try to make it to Gundabad as Thori. As Crown Prince he had worked harder than anyone but the Orcs themselves to build the relationship between their peoples. He would want to be here to be sure it went well.

They shared occasional letters, but Azog had not seen him since the diplomatic group repaying Erebor for the food delivered during the fell winter. He had been Crown Prince Thorin, then, it had been theatre and there had been no room for friendly companionship. Still, Thorin’s eyes had smiled at Azog as he accepted the Elvish sword above and beyond the agreed payment.

It was _Biter,_ a cursed old blade, forged for the killing of Orcs and found in a troll hoard in the Ettenmoors. Azog had placed it in the hands of a friend who’s people had once been enemies, and he could see that Thorin understood that trust.

“A princely gift, indeed.” He had answered, and spoken pretty words about a sword forged in blood finding a new life as an instrument of peace for the benefit of the Dwarven nobility.

Thorin did not carry the sword now – but he would not, as Thori the smith. It would have given him away, when he wanted the anonymity of a commoner.

Azog nudged Bolg with his elbow, “He came.” he said.

“mm.” Bolg said, distracted, and Azog paid attention to him. Bolg’s head was tipped to the side as thought he were listening hard to something he could not quite hear.

“There is… something wrong.” He said, a hesitation in his voice, “it is faint… tangled…” He licked his lips as though trying to understand a taste he couldn’t quite taste, then sighed and shook his head.

“…lost it.” he sighed, disappointed, his eyes focusing on Azog.

Azog rested his hand on his son’s broad shoulder for a moment to offer comfort, looking out at the other watching Orcs, looking for others he knew were _sensitive_. Most seemed unbothered, but a few of the most sensitive were sniffing, or staring, or listening, licking their lips – however their particular senses translated what was not a physical _sense_.

Just one or two Orcs might have been wrong, but there were too many noticing. There was _something_ wrong with something in the Dwarven caravan. It might be nothing important, but Azog wouldn’t dare risk that. Thorin would not have brought anything evil to Gundabad _intentionally_ , but it would be best to have sensitive Orcs keeping watch over the Dwarves of the caravan until they could discover whatever it was.

“Gather a few who are sensitive, make friends with the Dwarves, find it out.” Azog said, and Bolg nodded. He could be trusted for this. He had the sharpness of mind for it – trained by the best diplomats Gundabad could provide – and the sensitivity of sense. Azog felt a small warming of pride that Bolg – his Bolg, an artist and a hunter, a warrior and a diplomat – sensed evil and could name it simply ‘wrong’, when those born slaves would have named it ‘familiar’.

If it _was_ a power of Mordor they were sensing.

“Will you go to him?” Bolg asked, gesturing toward Thori who was going with the rest of the Dwarves toward the apartments that had been prepared for them. Azog had not _intended_ to have much of anything to do with the Dwarven traders.

“Once they are settled.” Azog said, nodding briefly.

Thori was an old friend, and Azog looked forward to spending time with him again.

 

“I see now. You are trying to steal our forge secrets.” Thori laughed when Azog offered him the use of the Orcs’ forges, but there was no cruelty in his laugh. Azog had wondered how comfortable Thori would be – if he would wish to conceal their friendship along with the fact that he was royalty – but Thori had greeted him in full sight of his company as soon as Azog approached. They had knocked foreheads in the way of Dwarves and pressed cheeks in the way of Orcs. Thori had dismissed those Dwarves who seemed to be his guards and come with Azog to see what was new in Gundabad since his last visit so long ago. The bald one with the axes was _very_ displeased by that, but Thori had waved him off.

“Azog is an old friend of mine.” He said, “I am safe with him.”

Thorin, always a smith along with being Crown Prince, had enjoyed the look at the forges of Gundabad – it was a whim that had Azog offering him the use of them.

“We might be.” Azog answered Thori’s laughing accusation, patting the blackened steel knife that rested on the back of his belt, “This knife you made me is envied.”

Thori held his hand out, and Azog handed the knife over. He had taken good care of it over the years, and the original workmanship had been excellent. It was a very fine blade.

Thori smiled as he looked it over, tested the edge and the weight before giving it back.

“It has held up well.” Azog said.

“Dwarves build things to last.” Thori answered, ‘like this unusual friendship of ours’ went unsaid.

“We are learning to, in Gundabad.” Azog said. The council of elders worked, always, to take the long view. Already it was paying off as they gained more knowledge and the quality of their lives and the quality of the goods they could produce all increased.

Opening their mountain to Dwarven trade caravans was just another step toward a formal alliance with Erebor – just another step toward establishing a safe place in the world for free Orcs.

“I can see that.” Thori said warmly, “I _will_ take advantage of your offer of the forges.” he continued, looking them over again with a smile at the apprentices making a show of working with extreme diligence to show off for the visitor and fumbling their tools when they watched him from the corner of their eyes instead of paying attention to their work.

“I would not want you to be bored, here.” Azog said, turning to lead him on – to see the Wargs, maybe.

“I do not think I _could_ be.” Thori said, a smile in his bright blue eyes as he followed to Azog’s side through the mountain of Gundabad.


	3. the stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since Nori was under a mountain.

It was not often that Dwalin’s desire conflicted with his duty, and he did not like it. Oh, he hadn’t seen Nori in years and enjoyed having a warm bedroll again, but he couldn’t quite trust him. Nori was a thief, and normally that didn’t _matter_ , but he’d never been in a position to hurt someone Dwalin was protecting before.

Not to mention that the person Dwalin was protecting was Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor – that this trip and a friendship with Gundabad was important to Thorin in ways Dwalin still didn’t understand.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nori said, with a smile in his perfect hazel eyes, and Dwalin tried not to. Nori was carrying a far heavier pack than he normally did, and his two Orc guards were carrying more too – to all appearances he _seemed_ to be the honest trader he sold himself as, carrying odds and ends and bits of rare goods.

It was not a way Dwalin had ever seen him behave before – but then, that might just be because Nori always sent him away when he was going to do anything serious. Dwalin didn’t want to see Nori committing crimes, and he didn’t want to be tasked with protecting someone else above Nori – but he would even if he hadn’t already been hired and agreed to it. Thorin was _kin_ , above and beyond being next to the throne of Erebor, and that weighed more than gold and an unspoken understanding. Dwalin _should_ have said something about Nori, outed him as the criminal Dwalin knew he was, protected the caravan.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nori smiled, and Dwalin was silent as Nori insinuated himself into the caravan. Maybe he was thinking with his stones again, but he promised himself he would keep a close eye on Nori and stop him if he _did_ try something.

It was difficult for Dwalin. Normally he was protecting Nori when they traveled together. Sometimes they met when Dwalin was working for someone else, they’d never been together for so long where Dwalin wasn’t working for Nori. He found himself wanting to take the space behind Nori, but it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Daul and Blotaz and Dwalin’s place was with Thorin.

Not that Thorin would _let_ him take it. He dismissed Dwalin and left with a pale giant of an Orc as soon as they were settled in Gundabad. What was the _point_ of Dwalin joining him in the stronghold of the free Orcs if he was not willing to take his protection?

Dwalin quietly fumed as he set up in the small room he’d claimed for his own. The apartments were decent, at least. They were comfortably sized, with private rooms attached to a common area where cooking and visiting could happen. Dwalin chose a single room for privacy while Nori claimed a larger one with Daul and Blotaz.

Everyone was setting themselves up, and Dwalin could hear Nori’s voice through the general noise – giving instructions to his guards and calling out laughing comments to those of the company he’d made friends with.

Dwalin could not say he was surprised when Nori came into his room and closed the heavy door behind him. A warm bedroll on the journey had been nice, but keeping quiet enough to not disturb the rest of the caravan had been galling. Trust Nori not to waste any time taking advantage of privacy, not that Dwalin minded in the least.

“Durin’s _beard_.” Nori moaned, melting… against the _wall?_

“Nori?” Dwalin had no idea what the thief was doing.

“Do you know _how_ _fucking long_ it’s been since I was under stone?” Nori whimpered, and Dwalin didn’t. _He_ made sure to visit Erebor at least once a decade and usually more often, but as far as he knew Nori never had in all the time they’d known each other. He’d assumed Nori visited other mountains of Dwarves… but maybe he didn’t. Nori’s pupils were so wide his eyes were black as he rubbed his back against the solid stone wall.

“Can you _feel_ it?” Nori asked, a tremble in his voice, spreading his arms wide against the stone, “Can you feel the _weight_ of the living mountain, pressing down on you?”

“It’s not as good as Erebor.” Dwalin said loyally, and it _wasn’t_. The Orcs had made something decent, but they weren’t Dwarves to make the stone sing. Most Dwarves would never even notice it, but Dwalin could still remember the first time he came back to Erebor after being on the surface for years. He’d thought he’d adapted, that he hardly missed the stone, until he was back beneath it.

It had been powerful, but he hadn’t reacted as strongly as Nori was. Nori was always master of himself, he’d seemed completely normal beneath the stone until now – he’d come to Dwalin where he felt _safe_ to let go.

“I’ll take what I can get.” Nori whimpered, pushing himself against the stone wall hard, eyes closed, little tremors traveling through him as Dwalin stepped closer. “Durin’s beard.” Nori repeated himself, voice dropping to a whisper, “Mercy of the Maker.”

Dwalin didn’t know what to do. When he came back to Erebor after particularly long trips his family knew they would have to put up with him touching the walls like old lovers for a few days until he found his balance again. He’d never reacted the way Nori was – and for the stone of _Gundabad_ , which couldn’t dream of holding a candle to Erebor. He didn’t know what to do to help Nori, other than giving him this privacy from the rest of the company.

Nori trusted him with this, and Dwalin couldn’t help the way that warmed him. He’d have done the same. He might not trust Nori around items of value, but with his life? Absolutely.

Nori opened his eyes, looking up at Dwalin – already breathless.

“Fuck me.” He said, voice rough, reaching out to grab the crossed leather of Dwalin’s axe harness to pull him in, “ _Mahal_ , yes, fuck me through the wall Dwalin. Fuck me into the bones of the mountain.”

“Nori…” Dwalin put a hand on the smaller Dwarf’s chest, feeling the hammering of his heart as Nori squirmed between his hand and the wall. “You’re… _drunk_ with it, I shouldn’t.” He wanted him, of course he did. He always wanted Nori.

“I am.” Nori said, laughing a little at himself and his pupils still blown wide as he pulled Dwalin closer against him, “I’m drunk on the stone but _please_. Do I ever _not_ want you to fuck me? I need this.” He tipped his face up, stretching against Dwalin to capture his lips in a kiss – and Dwalin _always_ did what Nori wanted, didn’t he? He never could resist him.

Dwalin pressed Nori tight between his body and the living stone of the wall as he kissed him, and he kept them slow when Nori would have pushed them faster impatiently.

He took his time kissing Nori, petting, working the thief higher as they undressed themselves and each other. Dwalin bit a nice big mark on the side of Nori’s neck that had the thief cursing appreciatively as he worked his salve-slicked fingers into him.

Dwalin hoisted Nori up against the wall and slid his cock into the perfect heat of him, fucking him deep and sure. Nori purred and cursed and moaned, his legs wrapped tight around Dwalin, his entire body responding to everything Dwalin did. He was gorgeous to fuck, the way he always was, and it was _so good_ not to worry about being overheard, but it wasn’t _Dwalin_ Nori was fucking.

Dwalin’s might be the cock grinding deep into him, Dwalin’s might be the arms around him, but Nori wasn’t fucking _him_. Nori’s hands pressed to the stone, nails scratching at it, pushing his bare skin back against it. His head was thrown back and all his concentration was on the feel of Gundabad’s stone pressing down on him, holding him the way nothing but a mountain could.

Dwalin might be the one inside him but it was Gundabad Nori was fucking, and briefly Dwalin wondered if he ought to be jealous.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. It was not really _so_ much different from the times Dwalin’s concentration was on Nori’s hair while he fucked him, and Nori was so beautiful in his pleasure. He did nothing by halves, throwing himself fully into it, and if Dwalin could help him feel good he _would_.

He held Nori close, and pressed him tight against the stone, and fucked him.

Even lost in the feel of Gundabad’s stone, Nori could tell when Dwalin was reaching his limit and reached between them to stroke his own cock. Dwalin kissed Nori like he was fucking his mouth to match the pace of his hips, thrusting in hard and fast. Nori moaned against his lips as he spent, yielding utterly as he pressed himself to the stone – and Dwalin did not last long either.

They lay together on the stone of the floor when they were done, Nori still making soft purring sounds as he petted the wall and the floor. Dwalin touched Nori, ran his fingers through the light fur on his chest and just enjoying the chance to look his fill. Nori wasn’t the slender youth he’d been when they met, but Dwalin liked him like this too. He was still lean for a Dwarf, but sturdy and solid and gorgeous.

Nori’s eyes weren’t so wide when he finally focused on Dwalin again, a lazy relaxed smile on his face.

“Is Gundabad a good lover?” Dwalin couldn’t help but ask, and Nori laughed at him as he gave him a light shove.

“It’s been a while.” Nori protested, and Dwalin didn’t pry to find out _how_ long or _why_. That wasn’t how their arrangement worked. Dwalin only took what Nori offered – it had been his job more than once to intimidate anyone who started asking questions.

“Glad to help.” he said, “Bed?”

Nori looked toward the bed they had utterly disregarded and nodded. Dwalin helped pull him to his feet and together they tumbled onto the mattress. It was no feather bed, but very luxurious to those used to life on the road. Dwalin snuggled Nori close and kissed him.

…this was _one_ way to keep Nori out of trouble. Any time he was with Dwalin was a time he couldn’t cause problems. If Thorin wasn’t going to let Dwalin _guard_ him, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do with his time…


	4. stone carving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bolg meets Gimli

The _wrongness_ was faint, incredibly faint. It came and went, and at times it was tempting to believe it didn’t exist. Bolg found the few who could sense it at all and set about ingratiating them with the Dwarves. The more time they spent with them – particularly if it was one-on-one time – the better chance they’d have of figuring out _who_ or _what_ was causing it.

A few cooks were easy enough – Dwarves liked food. Several of them were willing to hire good cook to have a meal ready for them at the end of the day. It was easy enough to have friendly Orcs make friends with those Dwarves who liked to have a social drink in the evening – though it seemed Thorin had not brought any heavy drinkers with him. That was just as well, they did not need any scandals.

Others were harder to get close to, so when Bolg saw the stout young Dwarf with the vivid red hair wander off alone, he followed.

The Dwarf settled in inspecting a mural, picking at the carvings with his nails, and smiled when Bolg eventually approached.

“You’re friends with Azog and Thorin…” He broke off, his eyes going wide, “Thori!” he corrected himself quickly, “Thori. Friends with _Thori_.”

“I know who Thori _is._ I met him during the fell winter.” Bolg assured the young Dwarf, “I am Bolg – son of Azog.”

“Mmm,” the Dwarf said nodding, his relief clear, “I’m Gimli, son of Gloin.”

“What are you…” Bolg asked, gesturing toward the mural.

“The carving techniques… I don’t know them.” Gimli said, turning to the wall,“They’re different from how a Dwarf would do it, but they’re beautiful.”

Bolg paused for a moment, considering, while Gimli continued tapping at the wall with his fingers. This was, probably, something that could be shared. The finest stone workers were Dwarf-trained, after all. With so few young ones in the caravan, Gimli might enjoy talking with apprentices his own age – though age was hard to tell with Dwarves, under all that hair.

“I could introduce you to an Orcish stone carver.” Bolg offered, and Gimli looked up at him with a wide smile behind his thick red beard.

“Could you?” He asked eagerly, “I’d appreciate that!” He straightened up and settled himself as though he were ready to follow anywhere.

“Should you tell some of your party where you are going?” Bolg asked. Gimli was one of the youngest in the Dwarf caravan, if not _the_ youngest. Bolg _did not_ need to cause problems between Orcs and Dwarves if his family should panic that he had disappeared.

Gimli squared his chin obstinately, puffing up as though he were going to start a fight… before deflating with a sigh.

“Aye, I should.” he admitted.

Bolg followed along beside Gimli as he tromped his way back toward where the Dwarves were housed. Bolg could not _feel_ the nagging wrongness about the young Dwarf, but it tended to come and go. Bolg would have to spend more time with him to be sure, but it was hard to imagine Gimli as having anything evil about him.

It was hard to picture _any_ of the Dwarves as carrying evil. They might be inclined to pride and impatience, and occasionally thoughtless – the older warriors might be gruff – but Thorin had obviously chosen the caravan carefully. He was a friend of Gundabad and Bolg agreed with his father that Thorin would not have brought evil to them intentionally… but the fact remained that it was _there_. There were those who could sense it, faint as it was.

“I like your beads, too.” Gimli said, indicating the decorative strings that Bolg wore when he was within Gundabad, “The quartz was well chosen and finely carved. You take pride in your crafts.” He nodded approvingly, and _that_ was something Bolg liked of Dwarves. They were not afraid to praise quality when they saw it. They cared for craftsmanship.

“We do, when we are _free_ to do so.” Bolg said proudly, looking down at himself. The skills of their artisans only continued to increase. They would not have had the skill for the beads he wore when he was a child. He had clear quartz cut to gleam like diamonds interspersed with carved shapes in white and smoke and pale pink quartz. It was one of his favorites.

“Ah, Nori!” Gimli said, greeting the first Dwarf he saw, “If anyone _asks_ , I went with Bolg to meet the Orcish stone carvers.”

“Otherwise keep my trap shut?” the big haired Dwarf asked with a smirk, and Gimli nodded with a laugh.

“I can do that.” Nori agreed, and Gimli turned back to Bolg.

“I told someone.” He said, his impatience clear.

“Come.” Bolg said agreeably, “Let’s find a stone carver.”


	5. flower crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo in Gundabad

The toys went over well in Gundabad. Bofur and Bilbo’s display always had an audience – though Bilbo was willing to admit that some of it was Bofur’s friendly personality and a bit more of it was the novelty of a Hobbit, and one who spoke Orcish.

The toys went well – the brightly colored Wargs Bifur and Lari’s little Lifur had helped design were the favorite - and already Bofur was planning on returning with more when there was another caravan to Gundabad.

Bilbo made friends, and soon it seemed the attention was more personal interest than idle curiosity. Bofur’s stories always went over well with young ones, and Orclings were no different. Orcs went in for a more _communal_ form of child rearing, herding them around in giggling packs – just half a step beyond what Bilbo had experienced with his Took cousins in the Shire. Once Bilbo and Bofur were established and determined to be safe, they often had a pack or two of Orclings gathered around them. Bilbo and Bofur told them stories in the common tongue, and Bilbo was more than happy to learn their stories in Orcish.

Daul was often busy with Blotaz and Nori, selling the big-haired Dwarf’s trinkets, so he didn’t have much time to visit with Bilbo – but Aklash was in Gundabad too. She took a turn wrangling a pack of Orclings that included her daughter Aanash, and was more than willing to have Bilbo’s help when he wasn’t busy.

Bilbo was very happy to accept her invitation to eat dinner with her and the close friends who’d children ran in the same pack as Aanash. The meal was fragrantly spiced tender roast goat and a few vegetables, and of course the _bulmos-akrum_. Bofur seemed to enjoy it too, especially as they all made sure to keep to the common tongue. Bofur never had learned more than just basic greetings in Orcish, and his accent was terrible.

Bilbo enjoyed Gundabad, beyond it just being a good new market for toys and a chance to visit with dear old friends. Gundabad was beautiful – very different from a Dwarven mountain. It was full of bright colors, every surface carved and painted, decorated in unique swirling and geometric artwork – just as the Orcs dressed themselves beautifully in beads and soft leather and brilliant draped fabrics when they weren’t out in the world. Once he had determined that it _was_ something that could be shared, Bilbo had commissioned an Orcish artist to paint him a canvas to bring home with him. It would be _very_ dramatic framed and hung in Bag End.

Bilbo _liked_ Gundabad, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a _mountain_. It was full of bright colors, but it was still dimly lit and it grew oppressive after a while. When he expressed as much to Aklash, the big Orc had immediately invited him to come with the Orclings the next time they went out to play on the surface.

It was _quite_ the production. The Orcs took the protection of their little ones seriously – there were armed guards on Wargs guarding the perimeter as a dozen packs of Orclings were all herded together out into the soft light of late afternoon. Their parents were on the alert, but the Orclings were just happy, falling all over each other with shrieking laughs as they played.

Bilbo just _breathed_ the free air and found himself a place to rest in the sunlight.

It wasn’t long before an Orcling brought him a handful of flowers, which Bilbo thanked them for and idly began weaving a chain from. The little one watched in fascination, and Bilbo wound it around the giggling child’s neck as a necklace when he was done, laughing a little at how pleased the Orcling was.

“ _Now it will never end_.” Aklash warned Bilbo in Orcish, sitting beside him – and she was right. Within moments he was surrounded by Orclings with flowers, but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t woven flower crowns since he was a child himself, and found himself remembering how it went, making ever more fanciful creations as he went along.

Aklash was singing one of her songs to Orclings who were flopped out around them, taking naps as they grew tired while Bilbo leaned companionably against her side and wove flower chains.

She cut off with a sudden gasp, and Bilbo looked up to see one of the guards standing over them.

He might have been the largest Orc Bilbo had ever seen, as pale as the Orc Thori was friends with and just as tall, with larger shoulders and a heavier brow. He had lines of decorative scars down his chin. His thin hair was tied up in a knot on the top of his head, and his armor was all dark spikes like claws.

Bilbo smiled up at him, despite the instinctive worry reaction in the pit of his stomach. Aklash was big, of a size with larger Men, but the guard was far larger even than she was, and very spiky.

The Orc hunkered down in front of him, opening his big hand to reveal one of Bilbo’s best flower crowns.

“How do you weave them like _this_?” he asked, his voice deep and rough as gravel, but genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Mine are never this solid.” The Orcling who’d been the crown’s original owner was leaning trustingly against the massive Orc’s side, and he gently put it back on the little one’s head as he waited for Bilbo’s answer.

“ _Let me teach you_.” Bilbo answered in Orcish, holding back _very hard_ on his surprised laughter as he handed a few flowers over. _“My mother taught me._ ”

“ _I taught myself_.” the guard answered, gently moving a napping Orcling out of the way and settling in cross-legged in front of Bilbo. _“I am Bolg_.”

“Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire, at your service.” Bilbo answered, and began demonstrating how to weave a sturdy flower crown. Bolg was a good student, patient, his big fingers surprisingly dextrous at the delicate work. At least one of the packs of Orclings seemed to know him, and once he was sitting rather than guarding the perimeter he was used as furniture by several. He smiled at them and made sure to warn them to be careful with his sharp armor as they watched him weave flowers, and brought him more. One Orcling in particular decided to decorate every point of his armor with a flower, and Bolg merely thanked the little one for it.

Among Hobbits it wouldn’t be remarked on for _anyone_ to wear a flower behind their ear on a fine day when everyone was outside to enjoy the sun, but the same could not be said of Men, from what Bilbo had observed. It probably shouldn’t have surprised Bilbo, with how Orcs all seemed to enjoy decoration and did not treat their genders any differently, that the toughest looking guard would not mind being covered in flowers.

One of the Orclings who was laying in the grass around them squirmed forward to tap Aklash on the foot, asking why she’d stopped singing. Aklash leaned forward to pat the little one on the head and began singing quietly again – one of her songs that always sounded a little mournful to Bilbo though the words were not always easy to understand.

Bolg’s fingers stilled at his work, looking up past Bilbo at her as though noticing her for the first time. His pale blue eyes were wide, and he was very still for a few long moments until one of the Orclings poked at him to get his attention and hand him another flower and he seemed to notice what he was doing.

He bent his head down quickly to his work on the flower crown, but soon his deeper voice joined Aklash in the song. Bilbo could feel Aklash tense with surprise beside him, but she did not stop singing. It was a strange song to Bilbo’s ears, the harmonies falling into dissonance and rejoining, but beautiful nonetheless.

There were a few beats of silence when the song finished, before Bolg dropped the flower crown he’d been working over Bilbo’s curls and moved the Orclings out of his lap. He nodded to Bilbo and Aklash before he returned to his Warg, shedding wilting flowers as he left.

“Ohhh.” Aklash said, pressing her hands to her face for a moment as she glanced toward where Bolg was leaving and then away again quickly.

Bilbo adjusted his flower crown and bit his lip to keep from laughing, not entirely successfully. He raised an eyebrow at Aklash when she looked toward him curiously, and she elbowed him gently for it.

“ _Stop_.” She protested, “ _That is Bolg, son of General Azog. He could have anyone he wanted_.”

“ _I said nothing_!” Bilbo defended, trying his best innocent face, and she elbowed him again.

“ _Nothing will happen._ ” Aklash told him, and Bilbo kept his smiles to himself.

Soon enough the sun was setting and it was time to gather the Orclings up and herd them back into the mountain for their dinners. Bolg wasn’t the only guard wearing flowers, Bilbo noticed. Many of them seemed to be decorated with a flower or two or a spray of leaves that had appealed to them, and the little ones were strewn with flowers and dirt and grass. Some of them were tired and cranky and had to be carried, but most were as cheerful as they normally tended to be.

Bilbo had _enjoyed_ his afternoon in the sun, but he was looking forward to being back with his Bofur and the rest of the Dwarves.

He said nothing when Bolg moved his Warg close to visit with Aklash as they walked. He still said nothing when Bolg moved away, having accepted an invitation to dinner with Aklash and her friends.

“ _Do not speak to me_.” She said, pressing her hands to her face.

“ _I would_ never _dream of teasing_.” Bilbo protested, which made her laugh and seemed to soothe her nervousness a little.

They parted, promising to see each other again soon, while Bilbo was still in Gundabad, and Bilbo looked forward to it.

Joining the caravan to Gundabad with a bunch of Bifur and Lari’s toys had been a _good_ idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a fun time trying to figure out what Bolg would look like if he didn't look like a Warg had tried to have his head as a snack.


	6. cuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thori(n) and Gimli

The negotiations between Gloin and Flaguz of the council of elders _had_ been going well. The Orcs were very interested in joint ventures with the Dwarves – prospecting and mining in the Blue Mountains – and Gloin was interested in funding them. Division of goods and profits had been haggled out, and it all _seemed_ to be going well until Gloin mentioned that of course the mines would be subject to Dwarven oversight.

Flaguz rejected the idea outright, the subordinates behind her united in their agreement.

They argued back and forth, tempers rising and neither of them willing to cede the point. Thori was about to suggest a break to allow everyone time to calm themselves, when both their tempers snapped at the same time.

“I _cannot_ fund a venture if I cannot guarantee to safety of the workers!” Gloin bellowed across the table, slamming his fist against it.

“We will not be slaves in our own mines!” Flaguz hissed at the same time, leaning forward with her broken teeth bared.

There was a breathless pause while they both stared at each other across the table and let the other’s words sink in.

They both sat back in their chairs.

“Safety?” Flaguz broke the silence first.

“Aye, safety.” Gloin said, “No one can read stone like a well-taught Dwarf. I have a _good_ record with my mines, I won’t stand for unnecessary deaths. I won’t have it.”

Flaguz’ eyebrows rose, but she nodded as her subordinates broke into whispers behind her.

“Slaves?” Gloin asked.

Flaguz of the council of elders of Gundabad lifted her head high, showing the dark scars against the green mottled skin of her neck.

“Some of us have _been_ slaves, Gloin.” Her voice was deadly quiet and her grey-brown eyes direct, “We will not see _any_ of our people worked to the bone and driven before the whips of overseers.”

“Durin’s beard.” Gloin recoiled, “I didn’t… I _wouldn’t_ …”

“…I see that.” Flaguz answered calmly, and there was silence again as Gloin tugged his beard thoughtfully.

“So, no overseers.” Gloin said, “But I _will_ have Dwarves making sure the mines are safe.”

Flaguz agreed with the point, and they settled in to negotiate exactly _how_ that would go. Thori sat back with a small smile. He’d worried it would all fall apart, but it was back on track now.

Thorin had been _raised_ listening quietly to negotiations, but young Gimli had not. He was obviously _trying_ , but his boredom was clear as he tried not to squirm in his chair or yawn. A Dwarf of action, young Gimli. He’d likely take to business as keenly as his father once he was older, but it was too much to ask of him to pay attention to the fine details of a negotiation he had no part in now.

Thori himself could use a break. He _could_ sit and listen all day, but he preferred not to. He caught Gimli’s eye and gestured him to follow, subtly signing to Gloin where they were going as they slipped out of the room.

“I have been offered use of the forges.” Thori said, “But I could use company.” Gimli spent enough time in the great forges of Erebor that he would know how to help, even though he’d never worked with Thori before.

“I can help!” he said, grinning broadly as he bounced on his boots.

“Good.” Thori said, and lead the way.

No one stopped them as they wandered through the brightly painted mountain of Gundabad. The Dwarves had been given such good welcome here. It was so unlike how the first diplomatic envoy from Gundabad to Erebor had been treated – only welcome in their quarters – but Azog had laughed when Thori brought it up.

“There has been _decades_ of friendship between now and then.” He had pointed out, and Thori had to concede the point. Free Orcs were now welcome in all the streets and markets of Erebor.

It only took a few polite words with the forge Master, and a few coins to pay for supplies in advance, and Thori and Gimli were given space to work.

“What shall we make?” Thori asked as they familiarized themselves with the tools and space given them and arranged things to their liking. It was not like the great forges of Erebor, but it would suffice.

“Hmmm, a decorative cuff.” Gimli said, tucking the last of his working braids into place and miming a broad circumference, “This big.” Thori smiled slightly as they chose materials and discussed design. Everyone saw young Gimli’s friendship with Bolg. Gloin had not been pleased when he learned of it, but Thori had spoken for it and pointed out that Gimli learning about the craftwork of the Orcs could only help his business sense in the long run.

And here Gimli was, his first chance at a forge, making a present for Bolg. He made friends so easily – more easily than Thori ever had.

Thori and Gimli stood ready, tools in hand and the heat of the forges warming them as it heated the metal. After a few too many Orc smith apprentices hammered their own hands, the forge Master had given permission for them to watch the Dwarves at their work – so they had an audience. Gimli had already exchanged names with a few of them.

“Shall we show them how Dwarves use a forge?” Thori asked.

“Aye.” Gimli grinned eagerly.

“Take the lead.” Thori said, and Gimli brightened even further. At his age he would not have had the chance to lead in the forge often – and this way they were less likely to give secrets away.

Gimli nodded, and spoke the first step.

 

Thori and Gimli both stepped back from the completed piece. Thori had assisted and occasionally made suggestions, but it had been mostly Gimli. He was not bad for his age. It was a simple cuff they’d made, but handsome.

Thori picked it up and looked it over everywhere, before passing it off to the nearest of the audience to pass it around. When it came back to him, he handed it to Gimli.

“What do you see?” he asked, and Gimli turned it in his hands.

“Here, the pattern could be more even.” He said, “Here I hit too hard, the thickness could be more even. Here, this edge could be more crisp.”

“You see true.” Thori agreed, accepting it back and seeing the worry in Gimli’s eyes. He remembered _that_ , waiting for a mentor’s judgment and always somehow sure he had failed in some unseen way.

“I see a handsome piece, harmonious in its whole.” Thori said, looking over it one last time before handing it back. “Place your mark on it.”

“It’s good enough?” Gimli asked, wide eyed, as his fingers closed on it.

“So I judge it.” Thori said, and Gimli’s smile was huge as he returned it to the anvil to discreetly place his mark. It only needed a little finishing now, and he could give it away – building another generation of friendship between the free Orcs of Gundabad and the Dwarves of Erebor.


	7. tyrion purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why _did_ Nori come to Gundabad, anyway?

It happened quickly.

One moment all was normal, the next every Dwarf in Gundabad was being herded together and politely but firmly escorted back to the quarters they’d been given by armed Orcs. There was no explanation.

“Do as they say.” Thori urged, when the more combative of the Dwarves would have become belligerent. Dwalin bristled at his side, but held back. _Thori_ trusted the Orcs not to harm them. Not everyone did.

Thori searched out all the members of the caravan with his eyes, searching for _what_ the problem was. Everyone _seemed_ fine, and no one seemed to know what the problem was. Gloin was keeping Gimli close and demanding answers – _everyone_ was demanding answers – but not even little Bilbo, cringing politely and speaking in Orcish, was getting any.

Azog met them just before the doors of the apartments, jaw clenched and his pale eyes blazing with anger. He stepped through the surrounding Orc guards, reaching for Thori, but Dwalin had stepped between them with a low growl and his fingers twitching for his axes.

“Enough, Dwalin.” Thori said, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder to calm him as he stepped around him to join Azog.

Thori had a feeling if he had _not_ gone with Azog willingly, he would have been dragged around the corner to privacy. It would not have been dignified, and _whatever_ had gone wrong, they did not need to make it worse by Dwalin picking fights with the Orcs.

Azog’s fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides as he glared down at Thori. The muscles across his shoulders were tense with his restrained rage.

“Tell me you did not know.” He said, his deep voice rougher than ever and his lips curled back from his sharp teeth, “Tell me you had _nothing_ to do with this, Thorin.” he demanded.

“With _what_ , Azog?” Thorin answered, the name and the mantle of the Prince coming to him together, his shoulders squaring and his voice deepening to command the space, “What has happened? What in all our years has lead you to think I would risk the friendship of Gundabad?” He met Azog’s eyes squarely until the Orc looked away.

“I will believe you.” Azog said, quieter but still rough with his anger, “Others of the council may not.”

“What _happened_?” Thorin asked again, but the giant Orc only shook his head.

“Go back to the others.” he ordered, and Thorin did – rather than arguing while Azog was so angry. He shed the Prince as he went, so it was just Thori the smith who stepped past the hard-eyed guards and into the apartments.

Everyone was milling about, asking each other questions that no one had the answer to. A few straggling Dwarves were escorted in late, just as confused as everyone else when they were questioned.

Dwalin grabbed Thori’s shoulder, pulling him to semi-privacy near the door of his room.

“How am I to protect you if you will not let me…” Dwalin started, but Thori cut him off with a raised hand.

Nori was the last of the caravan to be admitted to the apartments.

“Daul, Blotaz.” He called to his guard Orcs, who’d been standing quietly out of the way together, “Take care of it.”

He had a faint smile, pleased as a cat in cream, as he swaggered into the room – and his fingertips were stained purple.

 _Tyrion_ purple, the dye of the snails only the free Orcs knew how to culture.

“…Nori…” Dwalin breathed, horrified disbelief obvious in his tone, and Nori smirked at him. In two steps, Dwalin had grabbed Nori by the arm and dragged him into the room his lover had chosen and never used.

Thori followed.

Dwalin flung Nori at the nearest bed, and the small Dwarf rolled through the landing easily. He lounged out on the bed, grinning at them, his eyes flicking to the doorway.

Blotaz, the larger of his guards, was standing in it.

“Daul has this.” Blotaz explained, dark eyes traveling to Thori and Dwalin, hand resting gently on a spiked mace and intent to protect Nori from them obvious.

“What have you _done_?” Dwalin snarled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nori answered, smiling at the stains on his fingertips.

“That is what you said from the beginning – and I said _nothing_ – and now you…” Dwalin choked on his rage. “ _Thief_.” He ended.

“You’re not working for me.” Nori answered, eyes hard and bright, “I didn’t _ask_ you to keep my craft a secret.”

“You _knew_?” Thori asked, turning on Dwalin, “You _know_ how important this is, and you invited a _known thief_ into the caravan!?”

“I never invited him.” Dwalin growled, still glaring at Nori, “I _never_ said I trusted him.”

“You never said you _didn’t_. With your tongue down his throat - you let it be assumed.” Thori contended… but Dwalin’s betrayal aside, there was still the problem of Nori – of a _thief_ in Thori’s caravan to Gundabad.

“What have you stolen, thief?” Thori demanded. “What brought you to Gundabad?”

“Money.” Nori purred the word like he was making love to it, his smirk still laughing at them both.

“Explain yourself.” Thori requested, _very_ evenly, as he held the heat of his temper in check.

“Tyrion purple.” Nori said, waving his stained hand as demonstration, “Everyone wants the secret. I got paid a _lot_ of money to _try_ to steal it.”

“And you spared _no thought_ for…” Dwalin started brokenly while Thori turned toward Blotaz.

“You are willing to stand by him in this?” He asked the tall Orc. Thori had _never_ seen a free Orc do something that would damage their people this way.

“Do you think I’m _stupid?_ ” Nori smirked from the bed, “How does it benefit a _thief_ for Tyrion purple to be common? The rarer the better, far as I’m concerned. I got paid to _try_. Even without the second half for succeeding, I’m good. The Orcs need to know what they’re opening themselves to, opening the mountain. I’m not the only thief out there, and others will find a way in. The security was a _joke_. The bastard who hired me loses money, I gain money, the Orcs learn important things.”

Nori gestured expansively, “Everyone wins.”

“You were _caught_ trying to steal the secret of the Orcs’ most valuable export.” Thori hissed, “How are the rest of us to do our business if the Orcs cannot know this was not planned by us all? I will not speak against any punishment they mete out to you!”

Nori chuckled, still utterly unbothered by their anger, “Gundabad wants trade with Erebor too badly to risk hurting a Dwarf – and Daul and Blotaz are in on it. Daul will be explaining how it was only _me_ and I never planned to _take_ anything to the council of elders now. I _planned_ on getting myself caught first.”

“If _they_ will not punish you, I will bind you in irons and _drag_ you to Erebor myself to face justice.” Thori took a step forward, intending to grab the infuriating thief who had placed a barrier of anger and distrust between him and Azog – who had risked the decades Thorin had spent building friendship between Gundabad and Erebor – but Blotaz stepped between them. The tall Orc had spiked mace in hand and sharp teeth bared.

“To touch him you have to kill me. Kill me and face the wrath of my clan, and Daul’s.” Blotaz growled, and Thori took a step back while Nori smirked behind the Orc. There was no way Thori would lose to Blotaz in a fight – even without Dwalin to fight beside him – but the last thing they needed was violence on top of the disaster this already was.

Thori met Nori’s laughing eyes behind the Orc guard who’s loyalty he had done nothing to deserve.

“Did you stop to think how this would reflect on…” he couldn’t say _me_ , he was just Thori the smith here. “…on Erebor and the Crown?” he asked, and Nori’s face turned hard, his lips twisting with a sneer.

“The Royals of Erebor can fuck themselves with a blackberry bramble.” Nori snarled, “I’m done talking to you. Blotaz.” He gestured to the Orc, and Thori allowed himself to be herded out of the room, Dwalin with him.

“Make sure he does not leave his room.” Thori said, placing Dwalin at the door, “Can you be _trusted_ for that?”

“Aye.” Dwalin answered, hardly flinching from the accusation, and Thori left him, fuming all the way.

He could not even use the forges to pound metal into submission to work through his rage.

 

The armed Orcs who’d been guarding the door of the Dwarves’ apartments dispersed when Daul returned – a few words of Orcish passed between them all. A soft-spoken diplomat quietly apologized for having inconvenienced them and invited the Dwarves to return to their tasks.

“Nori.” Daul cringed respectfully to the thief as he passed by Dwalin and Blotaz, who had been guarding the outside and the inside of the door, respectively, and glaring at each other.

“You may stay in Gundabad as long as you like. You will not leave the Dwarven apartments unless you are leaving the mountain, and must never be in a different room from Blotaz and I. After you leave Gundabad, if you ever return to the mountain, you will be hunted and fed to Wargs.” Daul said the last bit quickly, cringing all the while, but Thori still overheard it.

Nori nodded with a grin, “Fair enough.” He said, nudging Blotaz aside to lean against the doorway and smile up at Dwalin.

“I told you not to worry about it.” He said, “It worked out. It was planned from the start.” He reached out to trace Dwalin’s axe harness with a finger, only to have his hand smacked away.

“No.” Dwalin said coldly, his face turned away so he must only be able to see Nori with his peripheral vision, and for the first time there was a flicker of worry across the thief’s face.

“Come on… you don’t think I was ever _actually_ going to steal anything here?” Nori’s tone was light, mocking, but his bright eyes trained hard on Dwalin’s face. “You don’t think I could have done it if I wanted? The guards were a _joke_ , I could have stolen whatever I wanted and disappeared out of the mountain with my _eyes closed_. It was embarrassing to get myself caught before I got far enough to _see_ anything.”

“I don’t want your explanations, Nori.” Dwalin said woodenly.

“Come on, Dwalin…” Nori cajoled, reaching out to touch Dwalin again and having his hand smacked back again, “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known you were going to be on it. I _know_ how you feel about it – it was too late by the time I found out. I didn’t _steal_ anything.”

“Stop.” Dwalin said – and Thori might be furious with him, but he was not so cruel as to leave him guarding someone he cared about – as inadvisable as his softness toward the thief was.

With a few quick gestures, Thori gave the guarding of Nori’s room to another guard, dismissing Dwalin.

Dwalin did not meet his eye as he walked stiffly back to his own room.

Soon, he reemerged with a careful bundle of clothes and objects, which he placed in Nori’s doorway. He was returning Nori’s things to him, and Nori saw it too.

“Dwalin, _please_ …” Nori managed to catch Dwalin’s sleeve, stopping the warrior briefly.

“Not today, Nori.” Dwalin said quietly, and tugged his sleeve out of Nori’s grip to return to his room with his broad shoulders bowed. Nori looked _lost_ , for just a moment, before he turned and said something to his Orc guards and laughed – as though it didn’t affect him in the least.

Infuriating thief who’d twisted Thori’s own cousin into betraying him and so callously risked all Thorin had spent _so many_ years building between Erebor and Gundabad.

Thori turned away so he would not have to _see_ him.


	8. shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a brief opening to a different chapter, but then nope.  
> It is its own chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings, warnings, how do I even warn for this chapter...  
> DUBCON warning first of all, for someone acting thoughtlessly and in anger.  
> feelings of uselessness and brief mention of suicide.  
> addict-like thoughts of alcohol.
> 
> Please be warned.

Dwalin had never been _ashamed_ to want Nori before.

He had ignored the thief for _days_ , even though there was nothing for him to _do_ other than pace in the apartments. There was only so sharp he could get Grasper and Keeper, and playing the viol reminded him too much of quiet evenings out in the wilds with Nori smiling at him across the fire.

There was nothing Dwalin could _do._ Thorin, who had not had any work for him to begin with, would hardly _look_ at him now. He was stuck pacing the apartments and ignoring Nori.

He would run mad with the boredom. There was a _reason_ he’d left Erebor.

Nori did not seem to _see_ what he had done to Dwalin. True he had not taken anything from the Orcs, but that did not mean he hadn’t hurt anyone. He had used Dwalin’s trust against him to deal a blow to his reputation – and what was a wandering sell-axe without a reputation? He had used Dwalin against Thorin, and the thief _did not know_ that it was his future King he’d shamed Dwalin in front of.

Nori seemed to think Dwalin would let it go, leaning in his doorway and flirting when no one else was around.

And Dwalin wanted him. He _wanted_ to take the thief’s offers, and he had never been ashamed of that before.

He ignored Nori until a few days in when the thief lounged in his doorway, combing out his perfect red-brown hair and beard. Nori smirked when Dwalin approached. He _knew_ how desperately Dwalin always wanted his hair, he knew what seeing it down did to him, how badly he wanted to touch it. He thought he had Dwalin by the stones.

Nori reached for Dwalin as soon as he was close enough, but Dwalin caught the smaller Dwarf’s wrists in his hand. Nori was too surprised to twist out of his grasp, hazel eyes wide as Dwalin leaned in close.

“You do not _see_ what you have done to my reputation. How you have shamed me.” Dwalin growled, and shoved him back into his room untouched.

Nori was quiet after that. He stopped flirting, and Dwalin almost wished he would start again because at least ignoring him was something to _do_ other than pacing the apartments while Thorin avoided everyone.

Dwalin _desperately_ craved a drink, the way he hadn’t in decades, but getting drunk and starting fights would only shame Thorin further. Dwalin had shown himself to be enough of an embarrassment already.

There was a _reason_ Dwalin left Erebor, and being useless was most of it.

“I think I understand.” Nori said, a few days later. He was sitting cross-legged in his doorway, and there was no one around to hear other than Daul and Blotaz. He was not _flirting_ or smirking, and Dwalin was bored and frustrated enough he stopped pacing to listen.

Nori looked down at his never-still fidgeting hands. Dwalin didn’t know how Nori hadn’t been driven mad yet by being confined even further than Dwalin was.

“Thori’s opinion _matters_ to you.” Nori said, “It would be like if I took a job, but then you turned my employer in to the guard. It looks bad.” Nori’s shoulders were hunched as he picked at the lining of his boots.

At least he wasn’t pretending everything was fine, anymore.

“It is bad.” Dwalin answered, “I know I’m not the _best_ of Dwarves, but you made me complicit in… this. I _trusted_ you, and you used me.” he finished, and Nori flinched slightly as he looked up at Dwalin. He wasn’t still trying to pretend it didn’t affect him, at least.

“I would _never_ have taken the job if I knew you would be on it.” Nori said. “I didn’t know until I saw you across the fire, and it was already too late to pretend we didn’t know each other. It was all planned, too late to back out. I _wouldn’t_ do that to you…”

And Dwalin believed him. He probably shouldn’t, but he did. He wanted to believe that Nori cared about him, and he was ashamed of that.

“I know.” he answered.

“Are we good?” Nori asked softly, his expression worried.

“No.” Dwalin answered. The hurt had been too much for a single conversation to fix – if it could be fixed at all. Nori nodded, his gaze falling back to his boots, and Dwalin left him to return to his pacing.

There was nothing else for him to _do_.

Thorin had no use for him.

The days continued to wear on, with Thorin only emerging to pointedly snub Dwalin on occasion, until Dwalin was at the point of holding himself back from starting brawls over nothing even _without_ getting drunk first.

He cursed and kicked at the wall after his uselessness was pointed out _once again_ , his blood hot and wanting more than _anything_ to get roaring drunk and destroy something with his fists and he _could not_. He couldn’t make things worse. He was hired to protect Thorin and he _would_ if he was _allowed_ to.

“What an _arse_.” Nori commented from leaning in his doorway, and Dwalin snarled wordlessly at him. It was not for a _thief_ to judge the Crown Prince.

“I know he’s your cousin, and you like him.” Nori said, completely unphased, “But he’s being an arse. You’re the most dedicated and loyal guard anyone could ask for.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, so matter-of-fact as though _anyone_ could see Dwalin’s value, but Dwalin broke.

Maybe it was because Nori seemed to be the only person who _saw_ him.

Maybe it was that he was going mad penned in with nothing to _do._

He was _going_ to break, one way or another, and this was the least destructive way.

Dwalin _wanted_ the thief.

Dwalin snarled as he grabbed the front of Nori’s shirt and walked him backward into his room, watching the smaller Dwarf’s eyes go wide.

“ _Leave_.” He growled at the Orcs, not noticing or caring if they obeyed as he dragged Nori into a kiss that was all teeth. Nori tensed against him for half a second before he answered, grabbing onto Dwalin and wrapping himself around him as he moaned.

“Go. Close the door.” Nori gasped when he had his mouth back, but not at Dwalin. “Fuck yes, _finally_. I thought you’d never…” His hands were everywhere, undoing all of Dwalin’s buckles and straps to get him naked.

Dwalin did the same, and it was a wonder none of Nori’s things were torn as he jerked them off the smaller Dwarf’s body.

It was not _nice_. There was nothing kind or gentle about it. It was all frustration and shame and rage and lust.

Nori took all of it and asked for only _more_. When Dwalin had him pinned between himself and the headboard, pounding him viciously like he was an _actual_ anvil, he offered Dwalin his hair too.

Dwalin finished with his fingers pulling roughly at the softest of braids, his teeth buried in the exposed skin of Nori’s neck, pounding into him like he wanted to break Nori with his cock.

He collapsed across Nori, and then he reached between them to give Nori the few strokes the smaller Dwarf needed to spend too.

He wouldn’t be _that_ horrible and selfish of a Dwarf.

He couldn’t… he didn’t dare _look_ at Nori, so he lay with his face hidden against his collarbone.

He listened to Nori’s heart pound, listened to his whimpers smooth out into even breaths and then into pleased purring sounds as his hands came up to softly stroke Dwalin’s head and shoulders.

“There…” Nori soothed, “you needed that.”

“Did I hurt you?” Dwalin managed, his voice thick. It didn’t _matter_ how frustrated he’d been. If he’d hurt _Nori_ …

All he could think of was the stories he’d heard passed among Men, told of the Lossoth Men of the frozen north. They said those who were a burden left in the winter – just chose a direction to walk until they died…

Nori’s clever fingers tangled in the hair that was left at the back of his head, tugging him up, and Dwalin always obeyed, didn’t he?

He looked up to see Nori smiling at him with bite-red lips. Not the thief’s cocky smirk, just _Nori_ , smiling at him.

“No more than I like.” Nori said, his expression softening with something he seemed to see in Dwalin’s face, “You _know_ me.” he said, “If you _really_ wanted to hurt me, you would have.” and kissed Dwalin softly.

It was gentle, soft and sweet and everything Dwalin _hadn’t_ given Nori.

His body curled around Nori with a whimper, holding him close. They were sweaty and dirty and needed to clean up but he couldn’t let go.

He didn’t want to want this. He was ashamed of how much he wanted Nori. He couldn’t help how much he wanted Nori’s comfort even though it was Nori’s _fault_ things were so bad.

They had known each other _so many_ years, had worked together so many times when it was just the two of them wandering so far away from the mountains. Nori didn’t say anything more, just held Dwalin.

Why should it be that he’d never felt closer to Nori when he was still so angry with him?

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Dwalin said, and Nori made an agreeing hum, still petting Dwalin’s back.

“We’ll be alright, though.” Nori said – and Dwalin wasn’t so sure but he hoped so. Maybe once they were far from other Dwarves out in the wilds again, not _here_ anymore, caught between Thorin and the Orcs… not that Thorin was likely to let what Nori had done go. He intended to drag the thief back to Erebor to imprison him, and it twisted something inside Dwalin even as he knew he wouldn’t speak against his future King in this.

When Dwalin did, eventually, leave Nori’s bed – the caravan knew. They saw the lazy warmth in Nori’s eyes and the bright teethmarks on his skin, and they knew what Dwalin had done.

 _Thorin_ saw and left out into Gundabad, unguarded, yet again.

Dwalin had never before been _ashamed_ of wanting Nori, even as he knew he would not stop even if it _wasn’t_ the only way to keep himself from running mad while he was trapped here _useless_ in the apartments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with art by the ever-lovely Sparkle.   
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/82025614366/trade-caravan-to-gundabad-is-doing-things-to-me


	9. warg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thori has a conversation with Azog

“My own _kinsman_.” Thori sighed, setting aside the tall cup of _bulmos akrum_ he’d guzzled down as though he had not realized how thirsty he’d become. He did not meet Azog’s eyes, his silvered braids hanging down limp and bedraggled and the scent of sweat and fire and metal and anger hanging around him.

After the Dwarf thief was caught far closer to the snails than he should have been able to get, Thori had not been seen for over a week. The rest of the Dwarves returned to their buying and selling, with a little more caution on both sides, but Thori had not emerged. Bolg’s sensitive Orcs who were still trying to scent out the evil in the caravan, friends with the Dwarves, had suddenly become more useful. Their reports collaborated with what Daul and Blotaz had told the council of elders. Nori was working alone, had joined the caravan late, and no one had known what he was up to. Even the things the Dwarves said when they thought no one heard them did not contradict the story.

Thori’s main guard, Dwalin with the axes, _had_ known he was a thief – but he was the thief’s lover and had said nothing.

If the thief had not so obviously _let_ himself be caught well before he discovered any secrets, it would have been a much more serious thing. Nori was confined in the Dwarves’ apartments, and Bolg’s Orcs reported that the Dwarves had further confined him to his room. They intended to take him back to Erebor to be judged for the crime, but from what was reported Nori was unconcerned and did not seem to expect them to succeed.

Thori had not been seen for over a week, and then Azog had been asked to come to the forges because he was frightening the smiths. Thori had come in and asked for the heaviest of work, and _would not stop_.

The strength and stamina of Dwarves were well known, but it was still impressive to see Thori as he worked – drenched in sweat and wielding a heavy hammer that he brought it down on the metal he worked over and over again.

“The quality of his work is excellent.” The forge Master said, wringing her hands, “He has us well ahead of schedule, but he will work himself to _death._ ”

Azog had nodded, and interrupted the clearly-exhausted Dwarf. Thori had given only the most token protests, staggering a bit once he was not singularly focused on work. He allowed Azog to support him with a hand on his shoulder to lead him away. Azog brought Thori to his own home, gave him a towel to dry himself of his sweat, and a strong, sweet _bulmos akrum_ to drink to restore his strength. Thori sat in Azog’s home, shirtless with the towel over his shoulders, and could hardly look at him.

“My own _kinsman_ knew, and said nothing.” He repeated, “I am ashamed of him, and myself for trusting so blindly. I would not speak against _any_ punishment you brought against the thief. You need not fear loss of Erebor’s trade.”

“He did not steal anything – and he is right. We do need to protect ourselves better.” Azog pointed out, “We cannot trust so easily.”

“Tyrion purple is so important to Gundabad. How can you let the attempt go unpunished?” Thori asked, confusion in his eyes.

“We have his scent. He will be killed if he ever returns.” Azog said, “But he _made certain_ he was caught before he found anything – and we will not be the monsters we are said to be.”

Thori was quiet and still for a long moment before he sighed and rubbed his face with the towel, setting it aside.

“I can see it from your perspective, I think.” Thori said tiredly, “But we _will_ see him punished in Erebor, if we can. The situation is _complicated_ by Daul and Blotaz…”

“They are sworn to protect him.” Azog agreed. He might not _agree_ with their methods, but everything the young Orcs had done they had done for the good of Gundabad, and it _had_ worked out. The council had been unanimous in their commitment to increasing the protection of the snails, it would never have happened so quickly and thoroughly any other way. Daul and Blotaz were now tasked by the council with seeing that Nori did not go _anywhere_ in Gundabad but out of it, but there was nothing to stop them from fulfilling their contract to protect the Dwarf at the same time.

“It would be a diplomatic nightmare if we injured them to get at the thief, and he _knows_ it.” Thori said, “He knows that neither Gundabad nor Erebor is willing to risk trade. He is playing us against each other.”

“If he had stolen from Gundabad, we would have hunted him to the ends of the earth and fed him to our Wargs when we caught him.” Azog answered, and Thori’s eyes went wide for a moment at the growl in Azog’s tone. “He did _not_. He showed us a weakness, that is all. I do not _like_ his method, but he did not hurt Gundabad.”

Thori dropped his eyes again, toying with his empty cup, and Azog obligingly refilled it for him.

“But you _should_ be able to trust us.” Thori finally said – the scent of misery burning through the anger, “We are _Dwarves,_ we should be _better_ than that.”

“ _You_ are better than that.” Azog said. It had taken days of talk, but the council of elders had judged that Thorin was trustworthy. In all his years of dealing with Gundabad he had never implied they should share the secret of the snails that produced Tyrion purple. Even in the fell winter when he could have demanded _any_ price for the food the Orcs so desperately needed, he had asked only to be repaid the cost of food. Thorin was a _true_ friend of Gundabad, and he was still trusted even while other Dwarves must be treated with suspicion. Azog still trusted him, after that first moment of shocked anger when he did not know _who_ might be behind the attempt on the snails – before it became clear that it had been an attempt _designed_ to fail.

“Come.” Azog said, when Thori only gave him a small despondent nod in answer. “The Wargs have missed you.” It was _good_ to know that Thori took the situation to heart, but his brooding served no purpose.

Thori brightened, he always _had_ liked the Wargs, but then his eyes fell on his damp shirt.

“I have nothing to wear.” He said, prodding it with a look of distaste.

Azog flexed his own bare muscles in response. Many Orcs went shirtless – and with his thick pelt of slightly graying curls there was not much of Thori to be seen.

“True…” Thori said, looking down at himself and then up at Azog again, “But I am not…” his gesture encompassed _all_ of Azog.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Azog said. Thori was short and stocky, and very hairy, but the symmetry of his build and the solidity of his smith’s muscles were pleasing to the eye.

“True.” Thori said again, and finally smiled a brief smile. “I will do as the Orcs do, today. I _have_ missed the Wargs.”

Lûl’s daughter, the one born in Erebor, padded over the moment they were in the Warg enclosure and dropped with her gray head resting on Thori’s boots, sighing at him. Thori had been surprised, at first, that she remembered him – but Wargs were far more clever than most would give them credit for. Thori smiled as he scratched behind her ears, telling her she was as beautiful as a Haradi dancer with the dark fur like kohl around her eyes and laughing when she snapped playfully at his hands. He settled sitting leaning against her side, an arm thrown over her back. It was a line Thori pushed. He would not sit on her to ride – he _knew_ he was not allowed that, that it was only for Orcs – but he wanted to be close to her. He would have backed off the moment Azog told him he had gone too far.

Azog settled in on the other side of the Warg, scratching the top of her broad head with his iron hand, his good hand resting near Thori’s.

“My own kinsman.” Thori said, again. “And _already_ he is back in the thief’s bed.”

“With Daul and Blotaz watching?” Azog asked, surprised.

“They wait just outside the door.” Thori said, “Though I doubt it would stop them if they stayed. They do not seem to care who sees them.”

Thori dug his thick short fingers into the Warg’s fur, “I _cannot_ understand someone who would take a lover so recklessly.” he finally said.

“…some might think you had chosen recklessly…” Azog pointed out, and Thori looked up at him, blue eyes bright as he looked up at him from under his brow.

“You?” he asked, and there was a small smile on his lips as he shook his head, “Bedding you was never a danger to Erebor.”

“I might have harmed the Prince.” Azog pointed out. Thori had placed himself completely in his power.

“You would not.” Thori assured him, his hand briefly brushing across Azog’s, “I have never regretted it. Can you say it did not strengthen our friendship?”

“No.” Azog answered, he could not say that. He doubted they would have lost what friendship they had built, but the sharing of that trust had been something beyond – especially once he understood that it was the _Prince_ who had given that to him. That a Prince of Dwarves would lie with an Orc like an equal, would take joy in submitting to him.

“It is a fond memory.” Thori said, his voice a quiet rumble, “I still think of it… of _you_.”

“You _enjoyed_ it.” Azog said, and Thori laughed slightly.

“It was like _nothing_ else, nothing I have experienced before or since.” Thori answered. Azog might have thought he was imagining the interest in Thori’s eyes as he looked him over, if the faint tell-tale scent of arousal had not accompanied it. Thori was tired, and it was faint, but it was _there_.

Azog smiled as he reached over the Warg to run his hand across the warm skin of Thori’s back, feeling the Dwarf shiver slightly under his touch.

“Would you like to do it again?” he asked, and Thori leaned in closer to him against the Warg, pondering as he relaxed under Azog’s touch.

“…I would, but… not tonight.” Thori answered eventually, reaching up to press Azog’s hand closer to his shoulder as he reached for Azog to pull him close, resting their foreheads together in the way of Dwarves. “I am tired, and I would come to you clean and prepared.”

“Tomorrow?” Azog suggested, feeling the warm pleasure of anticipation to have his friend this way again, to still hold his trust this way – _more_ trust, even, after all these years.

“Tomorrow.” Thori answered with a small incline of his head as he drew back, eyes warm as he returned to scratching the Warg.


	10. blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some consentual Azog/Thorin smut.  
> That is all.

The following day was a better one.

That the friendship Thorin had spent so many years building with Azog was not broken was a relief – and spending his day with Gloin’s negotiations and seeing the Dwarves of the caravan in the market still able to make their sales was a relief too. The Orcs _were_ more wary, there were obvious guards posted where once there had been none – but didn’t _Erebor_ have guards too? The Orcs had so much to lose, of course they must protect it.

The friendship between Gundabad and Erebor that Thorin had spent so many years of his life supporting had strained, but had not broken. Thori’s friendship with Azog had done the same.

Azog had little reason to trust him still, when a member of the caravan Thori brought to Gundabad had been so untrustworthy, and yet he did. He trusted Thori enough to bring him into his own home, to offer him the intimacy of lying together once again.

The first time, Thori had not known what to expect. This time he did, and he ached in hunger deep where nothing else had ever touched him again. The trust and closeness they had shared had been a fond memory, and the thought of being so overwhelmed again, of so utterly forgetting himself… his anticipation burned hotter the longer he thought of it.

In the evening when the market was closed and Azog would be done with his work on the council of elders, Thori went to him.

He quickly ate something, he hardly noticed or cared what, and cleaned himself carefully before he left, but did not use soap. He _did_ remember that Azog’s pleasure seemed to be as tied to scent and taste as it was touch and vision, that he had not liked the scent of the soap. Thori rebraided his smith braids smooth and sleek though Orcs did not place value on hair the way Dwarves did. It made _Thori_ feel better to be going to a lover looking his best.

The Dwarven caravan were resting in the common rooms of the apartments – there was a circle around Nori’s door, playing at dice with him. The damn cocky thief might be imprisoned in his room, but it certainly hadn’t prevented him from continuing to make friends with the caravan. There were several Orcs besides Daul and Blotaz around the common rooms, several who had been hired as cooks, and somewhat surprisingly, Bolg was just visible in Nori’s room talking seriously with Daul and Blotaz.

Dwalin straightened up from where he’d been slouching watching Nori when Thori left his room, as though he would accompany him.

Not that he had accompanied Thori _anywhere_ since Nori was discovered. Thori waved him off.

“I am visiting Azog. I may spend the night if it grows late. Do not be concerned if I do not return by morning.” Thori quietly told another of his loyal guards who knew who he was, getting a brief nod before he left.

Azog was waiting for him.

Unlike many Orcs, Azog never wore decorations and bright fabrics – but he was stunning nonetheless in nothing but a soft leather loincloth fastened with a large belt. With his size, and his scars – his muscular grace – he _needed_ no decoration. Anything added would only have distracted from _him_.

Azog breathed deep, smelling him, and smiled with his sharp teeth – his pale eyes burning bright. He looked as though he would eat him alive, and Thori’s heart picked up at the thought. He _welcomed_ it.

Azog’s huge hand rested possessively on Thori’s shoulder, pulling him close against the Orc’s side and leading him deeper into the privacy of Azog’s apartments. Azog led him into the warmth of his room, a nest of blankets and cushions on a huge low bed, thick rugs on the floor, soft lamps and a small fire in a brazier. Beside the bed were oil and the warmed obsidian shafts Thori remembered, ready to open him wider and deeper than anything else, to prepare him for Azog.

Azog’s hand ran down Thori’s back as he breathed deep again, “You _want_ this.” he said, roughness of desire in his deep rough voice, and Thori reached up for him. The Orc allowed himself to be drawn down to press their cheeks together. It was close and intimate, sharing skin as he drew his hands down Azog’s broad shoulders, across the scarred muscles of his arms as Azog reciprocated, stroking Thori’s back.

If it was intimate to Thori, how much more so would it be to Azog with his face so close to Thori’s neck and able to smell every emotion that passed through him? It was trust too among Orcs, this position – allowing someone with such fierce teeth so close to your neck.

“ _So_ much.” Thori answered quietly, and let go to allow Azog to straighten. He was so much taller, it would not be comfortable for him to lean down so far for long.

They both undressed themselves, and Thori joined Azog on his bed. Lying down it was easier to be on the right level to rest their foreheads together as they touched one another, acquainting themselves with each other after so many long years.

“We could try kissing, in the way of Men.” Thori suggested, fingertips exploring the scars across Azog’s face. The Orc smiled with his sharp teeth, drawing his tongue delicately across them in answer.

“I have not forgotten.” Thori said, pressing himself closer to the warm skin of Azog’s chest, “but so long as I do not attempt to answer…” He had considered this idly, over the years. He _did_ have a fondness for kissing.

Azog pondered that with a considering sound rumbling deep in his chest, his hand kneading at Thori’s back and arse.

“You would be yielding, only.” Azog said.

“I would.” Thori answered, meeting Azog’s eyes without flinching. He had thought of this. Crown Prince Thorin would never, _could_ never yield so utterly, but he was just Thori. He was nothing but Thori the smith here for what could be the last time in his life. He could have this.

He _wanted_ this.

Azog growled a hungry sound, hand on he back of Thori’s head as he brought their lips together – heat and hunger, the hint of sharp teeth behind soft lips – and Thori moaned as he allowed himself to yield.

 

Azog stripped the prince away from Thori piece by piece until all that was left was yielding hunger, overwhelmed and searching for more. Thori squirmed and fucked himself on Azog’s cock, achingly tight and hot, the scent of his lust so strong Azog could _taste_ it in the air and stronger on his lips when they kissed. The Dwarf shuddered and moaned from somewhere deep, his eyes always searching for Azog’s face when he could keep them open at all.

He was _still_ the smallest partner Azog had ever taken, but by no means the weakest. Azog supported him carefully with his iron hand, and Thori, spread wide across Azog’s thighs were he knelt, still managed to ride himself up and down Azog’s cock. His entire solid body flexed and released, muscles playing beneath his concealing hair.

Azog ran his thumb along Thori’s jaw, tilting his head back to kiss him again. Thori had been a little stiff in the beginning, hesitant, but now he yielded completely in this way too. He sucked on Azog’s tongue, his mouth soft and accepting as though Azog were fucking Thori twice at once. He had never seen the appeal of kissing before. It was not the way of Orcs and every partner who ever tried before had recoiled from his teeth – but like _this_ he could see why it was so enjoyed.

Perhaps it was as well his teeth were in the way – Azog had never enjoyed being the entered partner. This way he could enjoy what he enjoyed, pushing himself deep into Thori in every possible way. Thori moaned against his mouth, his blunt nails digging into Azog’s scars as he fucked himself smooth and deep, and Azog took it all.

“This.” Thori said, when Azog drew back again, moaned it rough against Azog’s chest, “Just this and nothing else forever…”

“I will not last.” Azog groaned, lifting his hips to meet Thori’s, fucking him faster to hear him moan louder. It was flattering, but he could not last in the heat and tightness of the Dwarf’s body, with the pungent musk of desire on his tongue.

Azog reached between them stroke Thori’s cock, trying to time it just right – slowing when Thori seemed close, picking up speed and firmness when he thought he was the one closer.

Thori shook, panting his moans against Azog’s chest, clenching impossibly tighter as he squirmed. He nearly sobbed with it, driven so high and wanting it so badly.

Thori finished first, clenching down as he nearly screamed, his body bucking wildly on Azog’s cock as the heat of his seed spilled into Azog’s hand. The scent of Thori’s climax hit Azog, musk and sweat and metal, pleasure and joy and the bitter scent of his seed – Azog snarled his desire as he released his cock to grab hold of Thori’s hip, fucking up into him hard just a few times before grinding deep.

He wrapped himself tight around Thori’s solid little body, buried as deep as he could go to spend deep inside him.

 

They lay together in the blankets afterward. Thori was slow to return to himself, and Azog was more than willing to lie with him after he cleaned them up. The Dwarf was tucked comfortably against his side, and it was not so bright with the soft light of the lamps he could not sleep. He had no more desire to move than Thori seemed to.

Thori idly stroked Azog’s chest, tracing his scars, and yawned.

“I may fall asleep.” he said.

“I would not mind if you stayed.” Azog answered, adjusting the blankets and cushions for greater comfort. Thori seemed to be more alert and helped a little, making himself comfortable.

“So many blankets…” he mused, settling in again – and Azog _knew_ he had more blankets than he needed. Many more. He _liked_ blankets and cushions.

“…a slave of Mordor was lucky to have a ragged scrap of cloth for a blanket.” he answered quietly, “And often not even that. I _can_ have more blankets than I need, now.”

“Oh.” Thori answered quietly. An Orc would never have thought to ask that question, not that it had been a question he’d asked. Thori was a noble son of Erebor, and as good a friend as he was to Gundabad he would never know what came naturally to an Orc. He had never known want that way, just as those Orcs born free had not – the way no one ever should – and he had not been raised on the tales of it.

“I _like_ your bed. It is very comfortable.” Thori said, sighing contentedly as he cuddled closer, and Azog murmured agreement as he let his eyes close into the warm closeness following a good fuck.

“I will miss this.” Thori eventually murmured, and Azog crawled back from the edge of sleep to make a questioning sound.

“The freedom. My father is aging. I will not be able to steal a moment of it for myself once I am…” Thori’s voice had dropped subtly deeper as he spoke, firmer, so it was Prince Thorin who finished, “once I am King.”

“No?” Azog asked, and it seemed that was all Thorin needed to continue.

“People will look the other way for a Prince, but a King is held to a higher standard. I may _never_ be Thori again after this trip.” he said, “I have been trained my whole life, to care for my people, and I will do it… but I do not think you can imagine the scandal it would be if a King had a lover beyond a single consort.”

That seemed cruel to Azog, but the ways of Orcs were not the ways of Dwarves. From what he had seen most Dwarves chose only one love and married them – with a few like Thorin being exceptions.

“We can do this again.” Azog offered, “As often as you like, while you are still in Gundabad.”

“Mmm.” Thori said, a smile in his voice, “I _would_ like that.”

 

They fucked over the kitchen table the next morning. Thori had worried about being interrupted by Bolg, but Azog had chuckled deep in his chest.

“He has found a new lover,” he rumbled beside Thori’s ear, “He will not return today.” and Thori had given up his objections, had taken what he wanted.

He was _tender_ but still somewhat stretched some from the night before, and Azog was gentle. Thori moaned into his arms on the table, knees spread on the bench while Azog filled him. It built upon the intensity of the night before, somehow feeling even deeper and bigger than it had been then. He knew he could take it, all of it, but he still could not _believe_ he could. It still astonished him that he was _able_. When he finished into his own hand and the intensity of the stretch burned into pain, roughness no amount of oil could soothe, Azog pulled out. The Orc licked and sucked kisses along his neck and shoulder as he pressed close to Thori’s back, stroking his cock with his other hand. His sharp teeth nipped dangerously along Thori’s neck with a growl as he finally spent hot across Thori’s legs and back.

After they cleaned him up briefly, Azog hoisted Thori up onto the table to kiss him the way they could. Thori opened himself and basked in it, it had been difficult at first not to push back, to remember that it all must stay in his own mouth, but it has been worth the learning. Azog enjoyed it too, and it warmed Thori that he had been able to give some small unique thing back to the Orc.

Eventually, Thori _did_ have to draw back from the kiss.

“I must return to the Dwarves. I told them I might spend the night, but they will begin to worry if I am much later.” He said, and he knew Azog had responsibilities too. The market would already be open, so there would be few to witness Thori’s return, and the council of elders would likely be needing Azog.

“You could wash before you go.” Azog offered as Thori did what he could to put his clothes to rights.

“I will wash in the Dwarven apartments.” Thori said, tensing himself and stretching his legs experimentally to see how sore he was. He would not be _limping_ , exactly, but he was going to be walking tenderly – but it was worth it. He had not felt so steady and relaxed in far too long.

“Every Orc you meet will be able to smell me on you.” Azog pointed out, and Thori had not considered that. Of course they would. A Dwarf who bumped into him might be able to tell he’d had sex, but an Orc he walked past would know _exactly_ what he had done.

He looked up to met Azog’s pale blue eyes, a small curl of arousal in his his stomach at the thought.

“Good.” he said.


	11. argue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing gets better and the afterglow is ruthlessly destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Anti-Orc racism and a fight.

Dwalin paced, having nothing better to do.

Thorin had not returned to the Dwarven apartments the night before, and now everyone who _could_ had left the apartments to buy and sell and negotiate and Thorin still wasn’t back.

It was just Nori lounging in his doorway dancing a little knife across his knuckles, Daul and Blotaz quietly working at something together behind him, and Dwalin pacing.

 _Why_ would Thorin hire Dwalin to protect him if he would take no protection? If Dwalin was just to _rot_ here?

It should not be such a comfort to have _something_ with Nori still, when it was because his attachment to Nori that Dwalin was not trusted here anymore. It was an unsteady thing, fragile, as unspoken as their agreement had always been, but it was _there_.

…though it might not survive the trip back to Erebor, bringing Nori to stand trial.

At least Nori had not offered Dwalin money to help him escape. That, too, would have broken what they had. It would be easy enough at a quiet time like now, Dwalin could surprise and overpower the guard left at the door and run with Nori.

To his shame, there was some part of Dwalin that was tempted even without having been asked.

He could not betray Thorin that way. It would be a sure way to see that Dwalin was never welcome in Erebor again, and Erebor was _home_ even if living there drove Dwalin mad.

Just as being stuck _useless_ here in Gundabad was driving him mad.

Dwalin turned and paced back across the apartments, when Thorin finally returned. He had left freshly-combed and eager, and he returned disheveled – moving slowly and looking calmer than Dwalin had _ever_ seen him. He would almost think Thorin were freshly fucked, he had the look, but that was impossible.

“Thori.” Dwalin greeted, relieved to see him, “Where have you been?”

“That is no concern of yours.” Thorin answered, making as if to walk past him, but Dwalin had grabbed his arm.

“You _made_ it my concern when you _hired_ me.” Dwalin answered, and up close Thorin _smelled_ like sex, that particular blend of sweat and lust. Who in the caravan?… Dwalin had been _sure_ everyone but Thorin was here.

Thorin tugged slightly at his arm, but Dwalin’s eyes had fallen to the princes lips.

“Your mouth is _bleeding_.” he observed. It was not _much_ blood, just a drop, and Thorin reached up curiously to touch his lips. Standing so close, Dwalin could _see_ his pupils widen with pleasure as he inspected his reddened fingers, the tiny smile that curled his lips for a moment.

“Sharp teeth.” Thorin mused.

Sharp teeth? Sharp teeth like an _Orc_.

“Azog.” Dwalin gasped, shoving Thorin’s arm away as he stepped back in shock. It was Azog they said Thorin had gone to visit, that he’d spent the night with, that he _frequently_ spent time with, and now he came back looking and smelling like…

“You bedded an Orc.” Dwalin said, his stomach turning at the sheer _wrongness_ of it.

“What of it?” Thorin asked, and Nori in his doorway made an impressed whistle.

“I like big, but not _that_ big.” Nori commented, grinning at them both. “Unless he doesn’t measure up between the legs?”

“He is _more_ than proportionate.” Thorin answered, and he _must_ be in a strange mood if he was actually speaking with Nori. He’d been actively ignoring the thief since he was found out.

“Durin’s _beard_.” Nori’s eyes were wide, “How did it not _break_ you?”

“He is careful.” Thorin answered dismissively, moving to walk past Dwalin toward his room – and finally what they were saying and the carefully deliberate way Thorin were moving added up in Dwalin’s mind. It was wrong, it was so utterly _wrong_ he nearly could not believe it.

“You let an Orc _fuck_ you.” Dwalin accused, and Thorin stopped. He sighed, losing that bemused expression he’d worn to this point. His sharp blue eyes were hard as they met Dwalin’s.

“Who are you to judge, with your _thief?_ ” Thorin answered.

“My _thief_ is a Dwarf!” Dwalin growled back. He’d never _never_ been with anyone who wasn’t a Dwarf, and Thorin played the anvil to an _Orc_ and would still try to shame Dwalin for Nori?

“I fail to see how that is relevant.” Thorin snapped, “It was a _fuck_ , not a marriage.”

“Does _he_ know that?” Dwalin asked. If _any_ of the Orcs would know who Thorin was, it would be Azog. What leverage might he want over the Crown Prince?

“Nah, Orcs don’t marry.” Nori piped up from his doorway.

Thorin gestured pointedly at Nori, “You see? It is not _love_ , just pleasure… as you ought to _know_ , with your _thief_.”

“You think I don’t love Nori!?” Dwalin growled, “That I even wanted to _look_ at another Dwarf since the day I met him?” He’d never _thought_ of it that way before, but it felt right. Nothing in their agreement had ever been spoken but there couldn’t be a better word for it, could there?

He wanted Nori. He _loved_ Nori.

And Thorin was looking at him with scorn and _pity_ as he made to leave again, and Dwalin blocked him again.

“That doesn’t matter. _You’re_ the one who rolled over and submitted for an Orc!” It was so _wrong_ Dwalin could hardly say it. How could anyone… with an _Orc_ …

“Why does that matter? It is no business but my own.” Thorin snapped, “You are in no position to judge anyone.”

“But an Orc... and as an _anvil_.” Dwalin repeated, and he could hear the disgust in his own voice.

“Better an honorable Orc than a dishonorable Dwarf.” Thorin answered.

“It’s not _right_.” Dwalin said. He could not at this moment think of _anything_ more wrong.

“You take your pleasures where you will, I will take mine where _I_ will.” Thorin answered, eyes hard.

Dwalin was _not_ the best of Dwarves, he’d never _been_ no matter what they said of his exploits in battle, but there were some things that were just _wrong_.

“ _I_ am never going to be _King_!” Dwalin roared. A King had to be better, just… _better_ than other Dwarves.

“And when I _am_ King I will have no freedom at all! I will seize what little is left me with both hands!” Thorin shouted back.

They glared at each other, both breathing hard. Dwalin’s fists were clenched as he tried to think of what went _next_ , tried to _understand_ how this could be…

“…Thorin.” Nori’s voice was quiet behind Dwalin. They’d _both_ forgotten the thief in their anger. They both turned toward him as Nori took a step out of his room, bright hazel eyes wide.

“You’re _Prince Thorin_.” Nori’s narrow face twisted into something unrecognizable as he took another two quick steps forward and spat at Thorin’s feet, eyes blazing with pure hatred as he looked back up. If Dwalin hadn’t known Nori so well he wouldn’t have known the tiny hand motion meant he was going for one of his knives, wouldn’t have had time to throw his body between Thorin and Nori.

“No, Nori.” He warned, and the smaller Dwarf snarled up at him.

“And _you_ …” Nori hissed, “His _cousin_. You’re a _Nob_.” And Dwalin didn’t know what was wrong, _what_ Nori had against Nobles, but there was pain on Nori’s face like it would break him just under the anger. He’d _never_ seen Nori like this.

“Please, Nori…” Dwalin said calmingly, reaching for him.

“No!” Nori snapped, slashing at Dwalin’s reaching hand with a knife – and even as he jerked his hand back unharmed he knew Nori would only have missed on purpose. He was _so_ fast.

“No, you have _no right_.” Nori raged, “You think liking to play the anvil makes someone _less_? I paid you to fuck me, what does that make you? Traveling whore?”

“Nori, I didn’t mean…” Dwalin tried again, taking a cautious step forward as Nori stepped back again. He kept his arms spread open, defenseless. Not a threat.

…not that Nori wouldn’t know that any fight was over as soon as Dwalin managed to grab ahold of his opponent, weapon in hand or no…

“It sickens you to think of someone fucking an Orc? Daul! Blotaz!” Nori called, breaking into the harsh sounds of Orcish. When had he learned Orcish?

Nori’s bright hard eyes never left Dwalin’s as his Orc guards stepped out of his room with light packs on their backs and curled themselves around him.

Blotaz’ long arms wrapped around Nori, stroking down his torso and pulling him in close, while Daul nipped gently against his neck with sharp teeth and Nori shuddered.

If Dwalin made a sound, it was the sound of a dying animal, of a gut wound, as every scrap of air left his lungs at once.

How many times had that been Dwalin? How many times had it been _him_ Nori gave the signal to, when he needed more support? Nori gave the signal and Dwalin lay claim to him to tell whoever Nori was talking with to _back off_. That was how it was _supposed_ to be, not Dwalin watching Nori claimed by his Orc guards.

Nori smiled with only his mouth, his eyes still rage and pain, and with another few quick words of Orcish they were all three stepping toward the doorway out into Gundabad in a single unit.

“Stop them!” Thorin called to the guard at the door, but ze was only _one_ guard and did not dare hurt the Orcs. Ze braced hirself in the doorway, but Blotaz knocked hir out of the way with a powerful shoulder tackle.

Nori threw one last hard sneer back at them, and was gone – run off with his guards into the riot of colors that was Gundabad.

Dwalin tried to _breathe_.

“Clearly, _I_ am not the one of us who needs to watch who I bed.” Thorin said dryly, his face set and hard, “Why are you not after him?”

“You would risk me hurting the Orcs to retrieve him?” Dwalin asked, even as he felt like he was bleeding out at the thought. There was a shameful part of him that was _happy_ Nori was escaping, never wanted to see him dragged to Erebor and prison.

Thorin blinked twice, quickly. “Why are you not _joining_ your thief.” He corrected.

Dwalin straightened his shoulders from where they’d curled in as if to shelter a wound, lifted his head high to meet Thorin’s eyes squarely.

“Because my loyalty is to _you_.” He growled. Did this even _have_ to be explained? “My loyalty is to my kin, my future King, the one I was _hired_ to protect." His loyalty was to Thorin even  _if_ he could not understand how a Dwarf could want to bed someone who wasn't, "I would protect you with my life if you would _let_ me – but even if you have no use for me I will see you safely through the Great Gates of Erebor before I leave your company.”

Thorin’s eyes dropped as he swallowed, briefly at a loss for words.

“Give me a _purpose_ , Thorin.” Dwalin begged, “Or I will run mad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more chapter!


	12. leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azog and Bolg watch the caravan leave Gundabad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mouseover text of the Orcish for your reading pleasure.

Azog and Bolg sat up high on a balcony, watching the Dwarven caravan leave Gundabad – one Dwarf and two Orcs short of the number they’d come with. The real goodbyes had already happened – this was just theatre.

Young Gimli was trying to look grim and serious beside his father, but he kept forgetting himself and smiling at Orcs he recognized. He had made friends among apprentices of many crafts, and double-wrapped around his neck was a necklace Azog recognized as one of Bolg’s favorites. Bolg himself wore a new decorated cuff on his wrist of Gimli’s own working.

Dwalin with the axes was staying close to Thori. There was a breath of space around the warrior.

Thorin was still a little at odds with him, but the rift between them that opened with the discovery of the thief had slowly begun to heal after his escape.

The Dwarves had begun to put on exhibitions of fighting techniques in the evenings to keep the warriors from being bored – and Dwalin was the best of those. Watching the matches had become a popular pastime, and those who wanted to wager had quickly learned that it was best to wager _how_ Dwalin would win his match rather than against him because he _never_ lost.

“This is the cousin I knew.” Thori had mused, sitting beside Azog as they watched Dwalin – shirtless with ink and scars across his hairy body – roaring as he demonstrated weaponless grappling against two opponents. “In Erebor he is known only for his strength as a warrior. I would not have been allowed to come without the finest of our warriors to guard me.”

“You are not still angry with him?” Azog had asked, and Thori’s jaw had tensed.

“I am.” He answered, “But I had not understood his loyalty.”

“To the thief?” Azog asked.

“That, either.” Thori had answered as Dwalin subdued his second opponent, “But to _me._ He stays to protect me, though he wishes to go after the thief he loves…. He has taken no other lover since the reign of Thror, for as long as you and I have known each other.”

Perhaps the thing that had healed their rift the most was Thori bringing Dwalin with him through the mountain to _see_ the Orcs. He had not gotten to know the Orcs as much as the rest of the Dwarven caravan had. The warrior was terse, but after a few days of observing Thori with Azog he had met Azog’s eye and nodded, squeezed Thori’s shoulder, and left them – apparently finally satisfied with Thori’s safety in Azog’s company.

Thori had confessed that having _one_ other Dwarf know that he had been lovers with Azog was a relief, though Dwalin had not liked it at first. Azog did not envy Thori the life that made him need to keep parts of himself secret.

Dwalin stayed close to Thori, and there was a breath of space around him – respect for his power with his axes and still a touch of distrust. He folded his arms and glowered behind Thori – and Azog could see what a team they might have made had their lives led them differently. Thorin the King with his vision and Dwalin the threat behind him, but it was not.

If their lives had led them differently, Azog might have met Thorin as an enemy instead of Thori as a friend.

“It is _Gashnal-gaz_ , the Hobbit.” Bolg interrupted Azog’s thoughts, and he nodded to his son to continue.

“We are all in agreement, those who could get close enough to him.” Bolg said, “He carries an Elvish knife, which muddles things, but it _is_ him. He is not of evil himself, but there is something of it on him, very faint.”

“…something sleeping.” Bolg mused.

Azog sought out the Hobbit with his eyes, spotting him holding to his Dwarf love’s hand and smiling his goodbyes. He was well liked, _Gashnal-gaz_. He spoke very good Orcish and liked children and made no secret of everything he loved of the free Orcs’ crafts. He had not been shy about commissioning Orcish artists and crafters during his stay, and was leaving with his pack heavy.

“I hunted a story they tell, as many as could tell it to me…” Bolg said, “There were some who felt an evil in the Deep Road – and _Gashnal-gaz_ fell into the darkness beneath and met a creature. There had been losses on the road, but he is the only one who met the creature who sabotaged the path and _lived_.”

“I remember.” Azog said, “Teams were sent to hunt the creature out, but it escaped. The road has been safe since.”

“And the evil was not felt again – until _Gashnal-gaz_ came to Gundabad.” Bolg finished.

“…you think he has something of the creature’s.” Azog realized.

“A relic of Mordor.” Bolg agreed grimly, “It would be something small, something pretty – or so Aklash thinks, and she knows him well.”

“…Aklash…” Azog mused, smiling slightly as Bolg looked away quickly. He had never seen Bolg so taken with a lover. It had been _convenient_ to have him out of the way while Thori was visiting.

They fell into comfortable silence again. Thori caught sight of Azog and smiled at him, and Azog smiled back. It had been _good_ to see his old friend, to briefly rekindle the passion they’d shared. They had not fucked for days in preparation for Thori leaving, not wanting him to be sore during his travels, but that did not mean they had not wished each other a warm farewell. The way Thori used his mouth was not something Azog could get with Orc lovers.

Having had him as such an eager lover again would be a fond memory to warm their friendship as Thorin became King of Erebor and they continued to work together to ally their mountains.

“…how would _you_ ask someone if she would bear and raise a child with you?” Bolg asked quietly, and Azog’s thoughts were dragged back to the present again.

“I do not know.” He answered truthfully, “Your mother approached _me_.” he smiled fondly at the memory, “ _Such_ a fierce warrior, she was.”

“She was.” Bolg agreed proudly, “Did you ever feel about her… like you understood why someone would want to marry?”

“mmm, no.” Azog answered fondly, “She was too much Orc to be bound to any _one_ … but you and Aklash?”

Bolg nodded briefly, “I know we are new still, but… with _her_ , I think I could understand it. When she sings I forget how to breathe.”

“Hmm.” Azog answered. There were some Orcs of the younger generations who were forming partnerships the way they could never have done as slaves of Mordor. Some lasted, and some did not. Azog did not see the appeal, himself.

“If it makes you happy.” He said – words he had used so much while raising his son, giving him the freedom to be who he wanted to be even if Azog did not understand. He’d used them when Bolg wished for beautiful decorations, to play with flowers and name Wargs after them. Anything that made his son happy, and hurt no one. Watching those born free was how former slaves like Azog learned who they _could_ be, that they could be _so much_ more than they had been made to be. They had fought and died because they believed it, but watching their free children they could see they had been right.

It had been more than worth the terrible price of the wars.

Bolg smiled at him, and then looked back to the leaving Caravan.

“ _Gashnal-gaz_ carries something of Mordor. It has not tainted him or he could not still use his Elvish knife, but given time…” Bolg mused.

“…everyone falls to Mordor.” Azog finished the old saying. “We will send word to Radagast with the story.” he decided. The brown wizard was strange, but the free Orcs had – not so much a friendship as a _truce_ – with him. He was mainly harmless, and could be depended on to help patch up an injured Warg if he were nearby. He had made himself known to the free Orcs in the early days by walking into a camp of them and asking them what they were – as they were not attached to Mordor. He could _feel_ that. Radagast did not attack anyone who did not attack first, and even then was far more likely to run than to fight.

“…he will involve _Groth-fakhthal_.” Bolg said grimly.

Azog breathed deep through the shiver of fear the very name invoked – the gray wizard was the stuff of nightmares.

“He will.” Azog agreed. “But there is no one better to go after a power of Mordor.” They did not dare go after it themselves, and Bolg knew it.

Azog and Bolg watched the Dwarven caravan leave through the gates of Gundabad, and the mountain held only Orcs again. Another small step taken, long in the planning.

There would be other caravans in the future.

“It could have gone better.” Bolg said.

“It could have gone worse.” Azog replied, “We will use it learn, and improve.”

Bolg nodded, and Azog placed his hand on his son’s broad shoulder for a moment before they turned away to go about their responsibilities in the mountain of Gundabad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more in this 'verse!  
> But first I'm going to take a brief hiatus to move house next week and then I might not have internet for a while. It's looking like it'll be a _short_ while though, so I should be back soon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and will stick around for the rest.  
> Thank you, especially to everyone who gave comments and kudos. You're the best!  
> <3,  
> Ts


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